Chương 3
“Yes.”
A family squeezed past them. Someone’s bouquet brushed Priya’s sleeve, leaving a streak of moisture on the burgundy fabric.
Priya stared at it.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Elena had imagined receiving apologies from people who had embarrassed her before. In those private versions, she always knew what to say. The words were sharp and dignified. They made the other person understand exactly what they had done.
Now Lucy was getting fussy, Elena’s breasts ached, her heels had rubbed raw spots behind both ankles, and Priya looked as though she might throw up.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Elena said.
“Nothing.”
“Everybody says that when they want forgiveness.”
Priya’s mouth parted.
Marcus shifted his weight. Elena could feel him deciding whether to intervene.
Priya looked toward the auditorium. “Connor sent messages to our group chat. He said you manipulated Dr. Bell into letting the baby cross with you because you wanted attention. Madison said you’d probably start a fundraiser after.”
Elena laughed once. The sound came out flat.
“I didn’t even know Dr. Bell knew my name.”
“He did.”
Priya said it quickly enough to sound like a correction.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I just—during rehearsal, I saw him talking to Dean Weller. He had your student file open.”
“You saw my file?”
“It was on a tablet. I saw your picture and your name.”
Elena shifted Lucy higher. “Why would they have my file at rehearsal?”
Priya shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Did Connor see it?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so.”
“He was across the aisle.”
Lucy began to whimper. Elena’s mother reached for her, but Lucy twisted away.
Priya took one step back. “I should go.”
“Probably.”
“I am sorry.”
Elena looked at her.
Priya did not ask to be believed.
She walked toward the parking lot carrying her cap at her side.
Marcus waited until she was out of hearing distance.
“Well.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say she seemed sincere.”
“She sat there.”
“I know.”
“She let them do it.”
“I know.”
“And now she gets to feel better because she apologized before I’ve even fed my child.”
Marcus rubbed his forehead. “Okay.”
Their mother held out the diploma folder. “We need to get Lucy inside somewhere.”
They went to the student union because it was closer than the restaurant. The building was nearly empty, its polished floors reflecting the afternoon light. Elena found a family restroom, changed Lucy on the fold-down table, and discovered she had packed only one clean diaper.
She stared into the diaper bag as if another might appear through discipline.
“You used the spare in the car yesterday,” her mother said.
“I know.”
“You said you replaced it.”
“I forgot.”
Her mother took a breath.
“Don’t,” Elena said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to say Marcus can buy more.”
Marcus, standing outside the restroom with his back to the open door, lifted both hands. “Happy to be useful.”
“There’s a pharmacy across the street,” Elena said.
“I’ll go.”
“And get wipes.”
“You have wipes.”
“Get wipes anyway.”
He saluted and left.
Elena’s mother held Lucy while Elena sat on the closed toilet and pumped beneath her gown, listening to the electric motor make its small, humiliating rhythm. Her mother studied the beige tiles.
“Your father would have been proud,” she said.
Elena closed her eyes.
“Please don’t.”
“I thought today of all days—”
“Today of all days, he would have found a reason not to come.”
Her mother’s expression hardened. “He was not perfect.”
“He was absent.”
“He had difficulties.”
“He moved to Arizona.”
“People can have difficulties in Arizona.”
Elena almost laughed. Her mother did not seem aware that she had said anything funny.
Lucy grabbed at the gold honor cord hanging from Elena’s neck.
Her mother gently removed it from the baby’s fist. “I did not know Dr. Bell knew about the night work.”
“Financial aid knows. The childcare assistance office knows. Half the administration probably knows.”
“Why would he open your file?”
“I don’t know.”
Her mother adjusted Lucy’s bow. “Maybe they planned to recognize you.”
“They didn’t ask.”
“Perhaps they meant it as a surprise.”
“I am so tired of people surprising me with my own life.”
The pump bottle was barely a quarter full. Stress did that sometimes. Elena stared at the measurement marks and tried not to calculate ounces, feeding times, and the cost of formula in the same exhausted loop.
Her mother sat on the edge of the baby-changing counter.
“When you told me you were pregnant,” she said, “I did not handle it well.”
Elena looked at her.
The admission was too direct to trust.
“You told me I had confused stubbornness with adulthood.”
“I remember.”
“You asked whether I expected you to raise another child.”
“I remember that too.”
“And then you didn’t speak to me for eleven days.”
“It was nine.”
Elena stared at her.
Her mother looked down. “That was not the important part.”
“No.”
“I was frightened.”
“So was I.”
“I know that now.”
Lucy had started chewing on the edge of the honor cord. Her grandmother pulled it away again.
“I thought if I made the situation hard enough,” she said, “you would make a different decision.”
The pump continued its patient mechanical tug.
“What decision?”
Her mother’s jaw worked before the word came.
“Adoption.”
Elena had known. Not from anything explicit, but from brochures left on the kitchen counter and questions about whether she had considered Lucy’s future. Hearing it now still opened something old and badly healed.
“You never said it.”
“I was ashamed.”
“You were ashamed of me.”
“No. I was ashamed of what I wanted you to do.”
May you like
Elena looked at her mother’s sensible black shoes. One lace was shorter than the other.
Outside the restroom, someone rolled a cart down the hallway. Its wheels squeaked every few feet.
